Wounded Hearts
by an-extraordinary-muse
Summary: Sometimes, the only person who can restore hope is the one who knows what it's like to give it up completely; the one who understands your pain the best is the one who's always laughing. Sometimes, your opposite is your perfect. Tiva.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: Here I am with another one! I have no idea where all this inspiration is striking me from, but it better keep coming! This is gonna be a multi-chapter fic, so hang in there with me! You know where that little review button is - give me some feedback, let me know if this is something you would be interested in reading more of. You'd be making my day!**_

___**Spoilers: None. Set roughly some time in season 9, current up to episode 16.**_

___**Disclaimer: Not mine - not now, not ever. **_

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><p>Sometimes she forgot.<p>

Never for very long, and not completely, but sometimes she had a moment where it all just slipped to the back of her mind. A moment where she didn't have to think about the horror, the terror of realizing that she knew what it was like to give up. The span of a breath that didn't remind her of all the lives she had taken. She could tell herself that she was just like the rest of them, just trying to do her job and bring this little girl home alive.

Then she'd take another breath, and all those years of Mossad training and dangerous missions would take over. She saw that little girl, trembling as she blinked wide eyes at them from across the room. Cassie Evans was eight, and the Glock pistol pressed into her temple was nearly as big as her head. Ziva could hear Gibbs to her left, his voice cold steel as he tried to talk their suspect into lowering his weapon. That didn't matter to her, though, because she knew the look on Cassie's face – she knew what it looked like when someone had given up on hope. She knew what it felt like to believe that you were about to die, and to see that look in a child's eyes …

Ziva was weapon. Fighting, taking a life, none of it was foreign to her. Since Somalia, however, she had vowed that she would not take another life unless it was absolutely necessary; she would not get blood on her hands again if there were any other way. But she knew, just by looking at the crazed man across from her, that there would be no other way. That man truly believed in what he was doing – he truly believed that taking Cassie's life was warranted. Gibbs would not be able to talk him down. More than that, she knew that _she_ would be the one to take this man's life – she would take it, because it was his life or Cassie's, and that was not a difficult choice for Ziva to make.

The slightest hint of movement caught her eye. She could just make out the profile of Tony and Tim as they circled around the suspect in a sweeping arc that took them partway behind the shipping crates. As long as Gibbs kept that man talking, Cassie had hope.

The sound of metal smashing into concrete as it hit the floor reverberated off the walls as it bounced around the small warehouse. She had no time to wonder what had happened; in the time it took their suspect to flinch, to take his eyes off her and Gibbs for one small second, Ziva was halfway across the gap that separated them. Her eyes watched the thick finger that rested on the trigger as her feet swept her across the room, the noise and the chaos around her fading into the background.

The man's head whipped around, but it was too late. Ziva launched herself at him, small and fierce and ferocious, and they collided into one another with enough force to knock them to the ground.

She had no time to look for Cassie, no time to do anything but fight. They had barely connected with the ground when a meaty hand smashed into her jaw, knocking her sideways. She blinked the spots out of her vision and had time to throw her arms up to block another blow when the concussive sound of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun shattered the air. The great hulk of a man gave one great shudder and then he was falling forward, the weight of his now lifeless form pinning Ziva to the cold concrete.

"Ziva!"

She tried to answer, but all that came out was a breathy wheeze. She could hear footsteps and more voices – one that sounded remarkably younger than the others – and then the body was being lifted away from her.

"You okay?" Tony appeared above her, his familiar face tight and drawn.

"Where is the girl?" She took the hand Tony was offering, but gasped and let go quickly when the pull sent a sharp pain through her chest. He was there before she could say anything, slipping one arm around her waist and lifting her carefully to her feet.

Gibbs was there then, grasping her chin lightly with his thumb and turning her cheek to get a look at the bruise that had undoubtedly blossomed across the bottom of her jaw. She could feel the throbbing where she had been punched, but she was also aware of a sharp ache around the ribs on her right side when she breathed. She tried to straighten herself out, but the pull was too much so she half curled into Tony's side.

"I think I bruised my ribs." Her words were clipped because she was trying not to breathe too deeply.

"Where else are you hurt?"

She didn't immediately comprehend what he was asking. Gibbs, in his infinite wisdom, must have seen her confusion because he dropped the hand from her chin and pointed to her abdomen. When she looked down, she realized that most of the bottom half of her shirt was covered in blood. How had she not realized that before?

"It is not mine," She assured them. "Where is the girl?"

"Tim took her to the car," Tony answered. "She's frightened, but she's alive."

"Ducky is on his way. Let's get you to the car." Gibbs fell in on her other side as Tony started them forward. She had been determined to carry herself, but walking was something of a challenge when the pull at her ribs kept her from straightening up all the way. She tried anyway, but they hadn't even made it out of the warehouse when she began to sag. Tony's arm tightened around her waist, taking on more of her weight, and she didn't miss the look Gibbs shot at her partner. Her boss was not happy.

The sight of Tim crouched down in front of the open car door, talking quietly to a living Cassie Evans, made the pain in her jaw and ribs seem less important. An eight year old girl got to go home to her mother today – her injuries and Gibbs' anger didn't matter in the face of such a victory.

They weren't far from the car when Cassie saw them. Her little mouth straightened into a thin line as she watched them approach, eyes narrowed in a way that suggested a perceptive mind cataloging information. The little girl stood then, followed by McGee, and walked slowly to where Ziva and Tony had come to a stop.

"Is that your blood?" Cassie's voice was even and soft, blue eyes blinking and drifting from the blood on Ziva's shirt to her face.

"No."

"But you're hurt?"

"I am fine, Cassie." Ziva smiled easily, but the little girl did not look convinced. Despite her youth, something about her gaze reminded Ziva of Gibbs, and the Israeli glanced sidelong at her boss. Gibbs ignored her gaze, just continued to watch the little girl.

"I thought I was going to die," She said quietly. "I thought he was going to shoot me, but you saved me."

Before Ziva could form a reply, Cassie had stepped forward and wrapped her little arms around the older woman's waist in a hug. Ziva's reaction was automatic: she hugged the girl back, swallowing the gasp of pain that hit when she bent slightly at the waist to accommodate Cassie's shorter stature. She knew that Tony was hovering just next to her, ready to slip his arm around her again when Cassie let go; on the other side, Gibbs already had one hand wrapped around her bicep to steady her.

Only belatedly did Ziva realize that Cassie was just tall enough to reach the bottom of her shirt, which was saturated with blood. She pulled away quickly but gently, her eyes scanning Cassie's face. There was the smallest smudge of pink on her cheek, but the girl either didn't notice or didn't care. "What's your name?" She asked instead.

"Ziva."

"You're a hero, Ziva." Cassie's tone, so innocent and yet completely serious, caught her as much by surprise as the words did.

Gibbs' hand released her arm, and he reached out to Cassie with a small smile. "Let's go get you cleaned up, Cassie."

"But …" Cassie began to protest.

"Ziva isn't going anywhere," He assured her. Cassie let herself be lead back to the car, leaving a still stunned Ziva to process what she had said. She glanced to her partner, perhaps to ask for clarification or maybe just to see what he would say, but the look on Tony's face stopped her. He didn't look at her like that often, but she could remember almost every occasion when he had: in the bathroom after she had come back from Israel; in the elevator after Mike Franks' death.

"I think you have a new friend." He had meant it teasingly, but his tone was far from it.

"But I did not do anything."

"I think Cassie sees it differently."

The arrival of the coroner's van saved Ziva from answering.

Ducky and Jimmy had barely stepped out of the van when Gibbs descended upon them. Ziva couldn't hear what was being said, but she didn't have to wait long. Palmer went straight to the back of the van, and Gibbs and Ducky headed straight for where she stood with Tony.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Ducky asked as got closer. "That is going to be a very nasty bruise."

"I am fine, Ducky." She doubted he would believe it – after all, none of them believed her – but the doctor had the good grace to just small at her in reply.

"Tony, let's get Ziva to the van."

She leaned into Tony as he guided her toward the vehicle, silently thankful that Ducky was here. She had been doing her best to ignore it, but the throbbing in her jaw had become more persistent, and the ache in her chest had morphed into sharp pains every time she tried to move. The van was not far, but her whole body hurt.

By the time they reached Ducky at the van, Ziva was leaning heavily against Tony's side.

"Take this," Ducky instructed immediately. He handed her a small white pill and a bottle of water, which she took wordlessly. "The pill is Vicodin, so you will not be doing a lot of moving for the rest of the day. There is no use in protesting."

She arched an eyebrow at the older man – she hadn't even had time to protest – but did as he said and took the pill. Pain killers were sounding pretty good at the moment.

"Tony, I'm going to need your help." Ducky glanced at the other Agent long enough to see him nod in consent, and then turned his attention to Ziva. "I'm afraid this is going to hurt, but I have to know if you broke any of the ribs."

"I understand."

"Good. Tony, stand behind Ziva and wrap your arm around her chest, just below the throat. The body's instant reaction to pain or injury to the torso is to curl inward, and I need you to keep her upright."

Ziva didn't like the sound of that, and from the look on his face she could tell that her partner was also less than enthused. He did as he was told anyway, moving to stand behind her. He stepped close, close enough that her back was pressed into the span of his chest, and she told herself that the jump in her heart rate had nothing to do with his nearness. One strong arm draped over her shoulder and across the top of her chest, and some dark part of Ziva's mind sparked to life at the positively possessive feeling of it. That part was quickly forgotten, however, when he pulled gently so that she had to stand perfectly straight. Her ribs protested with another stab of pain.

"Left or right side?" Ducky queried.

"Right."

"Okay, Ziva, I'm going to press along your ribcage. If one of your ribs is broken or fractured, I'll be able to feel it move. I need to press hard enough to feel it, but I promise I will go as quickly as I can."

Ziva could only nod.

The moment Ducky began to press on her injured side, Ziva's ribs began to scream. The air fled her lungs with an audible _whoosh_ and she immediately tried to fold in upon herself, but Tony held her upright. The lower Ducky's hand went, the narrower her vision became. The onslaught of pain awakened the flight or fight response she had honed so well, and the years of training tried to take over. She had to remind herself that this was Ducky, her friend, and that she was not in danger.

He pressed on the last rib, and the edges of her vision went gray as pain exploded under his hand. Her legs gave out as she crumpled, her muscles twitching with the effort of trying to pull her body in upon itself. The effort was hindered once again by the pressure of Tony's arm as he held her tightly against his chest, her weight thrown against his arm.

For several long seconds, Ziva was aware of nothing. Bursts of light cascaded behind her eyes, entire galaxies imploding on the back of her eyelids for only her to see. There was no sound, no awareness of time or space or the world outside her body.

The steady rhythm of a heartbeat was the first thing to return to her. She couldn't so much hear it as she could feel it, keeping a steady beat against her back. She focused on the feeling, on the way it seemed to beat counterpoint to her own, and the world slowly started to come back to her. The ringing in her ears lessened, and she became aware of two things: quick, shallow breathing that could only be her own, and the sound of someone calling her name.

"Ziva!"

"Tony?" She felt him sigh, the warm breath tickling the back of her neck. She blinked and glanced down at the arm still wrapped around her chest, then back up at a somewhat bewildered Ducky.

"I'm afraid you passed out, my dear."

Ah.

She struggled to get her legs underneath her again and make them hold her weight, but she felt shaky and dizzy. It took her a few attempts, but she finally managed to hold herself up.

"I'm sorry," Tony whispered.

The idea of how much the movement would hurt was the only thing that kept her from shivering.

"So?" She asked.

"No broken ribs. You did a number on them, but I am fairly certain they are nothing more than badly bruised. I still want to x-ray you when we get back just to be sure, however. For now, why don't you help her into the van, Tony."

Ziva thought about protesting, but she doubted she could make the walk back to their car. Besides, she could lie down in the van.

Tony's arm loosened and then disappeared, closely followed by the rest of him. Only his sudden absence told her how much she had been depending upon his support to keep her standing, and she suddenly felt very unsteady on her own. The one bright spot was that the Vicodin must have started to kick in, because the constant stream of pain seemed to be lessening.

"Alright, let's get you in the van."

Oh yes – lying down sounded like a very good idea.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note: Thank you everyone for taking the time to read/review/favorite/alert this story of mine. I don't know exactly how many chapters this will be, but I know where I'm taking it, so I hope you'll stick around for the ride! Enjoy this chapter - if there are any mistakes I apologize - and I look forward to hearing what you think!**_

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><p>There wasn't much that turned Tony's stomach these days.<p>

At least, he hadn't thought there was. Now, standing in front of the x-rays clipped onto their backlit boards, he felt as though a circus was taking place in his abdomen. The feeling was not the same one that usually heralded a complete emptying of his stomach contents – it was more like the intense roiling pain he felt seconds after being punched in the gut, when he was still trying to suck in clouds of air and keep his feet beneath him.

He felt as though he'd been sucker punched because, in a way, he had been.

Ducky was still talking. The three of them – Tony, Ducky and Gibbs – stood in a row in front of Ziva's x-rays. Tony and Gibbs were listening as Ducky explained things to them, but Tony could tell by the firm set of his jaw that his boss' thoughts were travelling along the same path as Tony's were.

"These darker areas here," Ducky said, circling one with the point of his pen, "And here are old fractures."

"How old?" Gibbs' tone was more terse than usual, although Tony would not have thought it possible.

"It's hard to tell from just an x-ray, but I'd estimate somewhere around two years."

Tony's stomach spun wildly, like a top just set to the ground and released, and then dropped painfully. Two years – about the time Ziva was in Somalia; about the time she spent months locked up with a terrorist who tried to torture information out of her. The same months that had passed without anyone looking for her, because they all thought she was dead.

"Now, this is the area she bruised today – right over one of the old fracture sights. Even after they heal, bones that have been broken are weaker in and around the area of the break. She's lucky all she got was a bruise."

The doors to the morgue slid open and Ziva – followed closely by a nervous looking McGee – made her way slowly toward them. Gibbs glanced first at her, then at McGee; Ziva must have known that he was going to say something, because she held up one hand to stall him.

"I am fine, Gibbs," She said evenly, "McGee does not need to help me."

"You have two bruised ribs, Ziva," Gibbs reminded her.

"Yes, bruised – not broken."

"This is not open for discussion."

"Gibbs …"

The older man fixed her with his tell-tale glare, the one that said fighting was not only useless, but a particularly bad idea. Ziva looked ready to fight anyway, but then seemed to rethink it and just flexed her jaw in irritation. Tony knew that action: it was one of her most common tells when she really wanted to argue a point. Instead, she just looked at Ducky.

"You probably already know all of this, Ziva, but I'll tell you anyway. No binding the ribs to help with the pain – I'll give you some extra strength Ibuprofen and Vicodin for the pain. When you lay down, lay on your injured side, it'll help you breathe. And be sure to take at least one deep breath every hour to help stave off pneumonia."

"Pneumonia?" Tony repeated.

"Yes. When a person injures their ribs, it makes breathing painful and difficult – you don't breathe as deeply as you need to, and shallow breathing over an extended period of time leads to lung infections, like pneumonia."

"I am cleared for duty, yes?" Ziva asked, glancing from Ducky to Gibbs.

"Light duty," The doctor agreed. "And no driving if you've taken the Vicodin."

"Where's the girl?" Gibbs asked then, glancing over Ziva's head at McGee.

"Abby's keeping her entertained until her mother gets here."

That seemed to be the unspoken call to disperse. The others started to move away, but Tony couldn't seem to tear his eyes off the x-rays. His eyes traced old fracture lines – four of them total – as his brain recalled dozens of images from his days on the streets, responding to calls of domestic violence and street beatings. Wives beaten to within inches of their lives, young kids kicked repeatedly in the ribs and stomach by angry gang leaders … the list just went on and on. He knew the evils people could commit against one another, knew the cruel realities of abuse and torture and punishment gone awry. Every time he saw it, he felt more than some quiet anger simmering in his veins; whether it was regret, or pity, or disgust depended on the situation, but he always felt it.

Not now.

Now, he felt more than anger; he felt rage. He felt more than disgust; he felt horrified. This was not some nameless person on the street, a faceless victim he had come to question in answer to an anonymous phone call. This was Ziva, his partner, his friend, his … Ziva. She was not helpless – she was probably the most dangerous person that he knew. Yet, despite that fact, despite her years of combat training and weapons training and who knew what other training, she was just as frail and breakable as the rest of them. Here was the proof, literally staring him in the face. For all of her skill, she was not untouchable; for all of her resilience, she was not invincible.

He was ashamed to say that, sometimes, he forgot those things. She was always so fierce, so wildly self-sufficient that it was easy to tell himself that nothing could touch her.

He was wrong. Terrifyingly, horrendously wrong. Ziva was no damsel in distress, but even she needed to be saved sometimes. Hadn't that been proven? Saleem and his men had overpowered her and then held her hostage, submitting her to days – months, even – of unknown tortures while trying to get her to talk. That was just one instance, the one he knew of. How many more broken bones were hidden in that tiny frame? How many bruises had mottled her skin?

The brush of fabric against fabric broke through his concentration. He glanced down to see that his partner had come to stand next to him, her eyes also fixed on the x-rays. What was he supposed to say in a situation like this? Did she expect him to just play this off, like he did so many other things? He doubted he could even if he wanted to – the idea of a broken, bruised Ziva made him want to kill Saleem all over again.

"I tripped." His voice was quiet, his eyes trained on the purple-black bruise along her jaw. "There was an extension cord – I must have caught it with my shoe. I put my hand out to catch myself, but instead of hitting something solid I hit a box; knocked it over. It was full of mufflers."

He didn't know why he felt the need to explain, except that he supposed she had a right to know. Gibbs hadn't been exactly pleased, but it had been an accident; an honest mistake. No one could have known that Ziva would launch herself at their suspect like a human cannonball.

"I am glad." Her voice was hushed, but he didn't know if it was because she didn't want Ducky to overhear or because she could only take shallow breaths. "That man was not going to be talked down, Tony. I have seen that level of …. Dedication, yes? Your tripping was enough of a diversion to save Cassie Evans' life."

"You should have just shot him."

"I could not be sure that he would not pull the trigger out of reflex. Bruises heal, Tony – I do not regret what I did."

Tony scrutinized her face, a face that he knew so well. No, she wouldn't regret her actions; Ziva was a very decisive person. She saw what needed to be done and she did it, regardless of whether or not it would put her in harm's way. That was one of the things he admired about her actually, one of the things that made her such a great partner. Such a great person.

"Let's get back upstairs before Gibbs has to come get us."

Tony clipped his strides so that he stayed next to her on their trip to the elevator. She was still moving more slowly than usual, but she seemed to have a better range of motion now that the Vicodin had settled in.

"How is Cassie?" Ziva questioned.

"Better. You know how resilient kids are. She asked about you."

"Why?" Her tone was so surprised, her expression so bewildered that he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Ask her yourself."

The elevator came to a halt, the silver doors sliding open before them. Tony waited until Ziva had stepped out, and then fell in beside her as they came around the corner into the bullpen. Abby was kneeling next to where Cassie sat in Ziva's chair, swinging her little legs back and forth as she scribbled on something in front of her. Abby, who had looked up at the sound of their approaching footsteps, grinned and tapped the little girl's arm lightly.

"I told you she'd be back," Abby said, smiling and nodding to Ziva.

"Ziva!" Cassie exclaimed. She immediately pushed the chair back and hopped down, barely giving Abby time to stand before she was dashing across the room to stand in front of Ziva. Tony took a step to the side, leaning his hip against the corner of McGee's desk while he watched the two people in front of him. "Abby said you'd be back, but I wasn't sure. Where were you? You took forever!"

Tony couldn't resist a grin.

"I had to see the doctor," Ziva explained patiently, smiling at the little girl.

"Cause of the bruise on your cheek? That's a big bruise. Did he kiss it better? That's what my mom does when I get hurt."

Even if everyone else missed it, Tony saw the way Ziva's expression fell ever so slightly. He wondered if she was thinking about not having anyone to kiss away her bruises. A small part of him tried to imagine what her life was like: no mother to make her feel better, a father that left her to fend for herself, both siblings lost …

His brain conjured a fleeting, ghostly image of him brushing feathery kisses over that hideous bruise.

He tore himself away from his thoughts just in time to catch Cassie's next suggestion.

"I'll kiss it better!" She looked so proud of herself for coming up with the idea. "But you'll have to bend down, cause I can't reach that high."

Abby was about to say something, but Ziva didn't give her the chance. With the most serene expression on her face, despite how painful he knew it must have been, Ziva lowered herself to her knees in front of the little girl. All concern, Cassie leaned forward and pressed the lightest kiss over the bruise in question.

"There! Now how does it feel?"

"All better. Thank you."

Cassie was beaming. Ziva's smile was softer, but there was a sweetness to it that Tony rarely saw. He couldn't help feeling at least a little bit awed that this woman who could be all steel and fire in her day to day life was capable of such a deep seated gentleness, that she could swing from one end of the spectrum to the other so effortlessly.

"I drew you a picture. Wanna see?" Cassie barely waited for Ziva to nod before she was bounding over to the piece of paper she'd left abandoned on the desk. Ziva made an effort to lift herself to her feet, but it was too much. Tony stepped forward wordlessly and wrapped one hand around her elbow so that she could lean into him. He half guided, half pulled her to her feet as she rested her weight against him.

"Thank you."

He just smiled and pointed her in the direction of her desk, where Cassie was waiting patiently. When he was certain that she didn't plan on overtaxing herself again, he glanced over his shoulder at Gibbs. The older man caught his gaze immediately and flicked his eyes toward the opposite end of the room. Tony knew a hint when he saw one, so he stepped quietly toward the area behind McGee's desk. Gibbs followed shortly after.

"As soon as Cassie's mom gets here, I want you to take Ziva home. She needs rest; make sure she leaves her car here. I don't want her driving."

"What about tomorrow? I doubt she'll take the idea of bed rest very well."

"Ducky said she'd be fine with light duty, so she can come in."

Gibbs didn't say it, but Tony heard the underlying message: if she was here, they could keep an eye on her.

"She's gonna be pissed, boss."

His boss gave him that look – the one that Tony had long ago started calling the "do-I-look-like-I-care?" glare - and he decided not to say anything else. Even though he knew he was going to be the one bearing the brunt of her anger, again.

"Cassie?"

Both men glanced up, toward the owner of the half-panicked voice that carried across the room. Cassie was an almost exact replica of her mother: same strawberry blonde hair, same wide blue eyes. Colleen Evans was sweeping around the partition of Ziva's desk, keys and purse falling unchecked to the floor, before anyone could answer her. Cassie, who had looked up at the sound of her mother's voice, threw herself into her mother's open arms with a squeal that may or may not have been a word. Ziva and Abby stepped quietly away from where mother and daughter embraced, coming to stand instead with the rest of their team.

Gibbs, their stoic leader of few words, smiled slightly at Ziva and then motioned to the other side of the room.

"Remember this, Ziver. You gave that woman her daughter back."

Ziva said something in response, but Tony wasn't listening. Regardless of how fervently or repeatedly she told them she was fine, he could see the weariness hiding in the lines of her body. She wasn't standing as tall as she normally did, her attention rather more forced than focused; she wouldn't admit it, but only the strength of her will was keeping her on her feet at this point. She needed rest.

Tony had the fleeting thought that he might laugh. Since when had he become so adept at reading his partner?

"DiNozzo's going to take you home," Gibbs was saying. "Get some sleep."

Ziva didn't argue, merely made her way slowly toward her desk. Colleen and Cassie released each other as Ziva got closer and Tony watched as a positively glowing Cassie bounced happily toward his partner.

"I finished your picture!"

"Then we shall hang it up."

Colleen smiled at her daughter and made her way toward where Gibbs, McGee and Tony stood watching. Her eyes were red rimmed from crying, but her smile was genuinely relieved.

"I don't know how to thank you for what you've done," She said, looking between the three of them, "My daughter is alive because of you."

"Agent David is the one you should be thanking," Gibbs answered, inclining his head to where Ziva still stood talking to Cassie.

"Cassie seems quite taken with her. How was she injured?"

"Tackling the man who abducted your daughter," Tony replied quickly.

"_Tackling_ him?"

Behind him, Tony heard McGee try to stifle a chuckle and nearly had to do the same. Ziva's antics weren't really a surprise to any of them after all these years, but he didn't doubt how crazy they would sound to an outsider. Their Israeli was a deceptively small woman – not many people could tell just by looking at her that she posed as much threat to them as her gun did.

"It seems my daughter's admiration is well-placed." Colleen smiled and excused herself. Cassie was preoccupied with pinning her drawing – a very colorful butterfly and rainbow with the words "Ziva is my hero" running across the bottom – to the partition next to her desk.

Tony waited a few minutes, allowing Colleen time to say her thank you's and Cassie time to say her goodbye's before heading to Ziva's desk. She looked like she was ready to fall over in exhaustion, or maybe it was an effect of the Vicodin. Either way, he was surprised she'd managed to stay on her feet this long.

He swooped in and tossed her bag over his shoulder with a grin, offering his crooked arm almost simultaneously.

"Your chariot awaits, my lady."

Ziva rolled her eyes in a half-hearted approximation of her usual annoyance, but his grin widened almost imperceptibly when she took his arm anyway.

Who said chivalry was dead?


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note: Another chapter, and so soon after the last one! Yay me! XD Thank you to everyone who's stopped by to take a look at this little thing. Hope everyone's ready, cause it's "Into the woods we go!"**_

_**And hey, that little blue button looks a little lonely down there ... just saying ...**_

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><p>She couldn't say how it happened. That first day he had driven her home, he'd walked her to the door to be certain that she could make it all the way. On a whim, she'd invited him in for tea, and they'd spent hours talking aimlessly about movies.<p>

Somehow, they had established a routine.

He'd pick her up every morning, and drop her off every night. After the first two or three days, they'd grab a pizza or some other food on their way to her apartment; she'd invite him in for a movie, they'd spend a few hours arguing over who made a better James Bond or whether or not Pierce Brosnan could kick Sean Connery's ass, and then he'd go home. Every once in awhile they'd actually touch on a serious subject; the first time, she'd veered away from the topic immediately and steered them back to safer territory. The second time though, whether it was because she was tired or simply felt the need to talk, she'd opened up. Just the barest crack in the doorway, the shadow of a weakness in her wall, but it was the beginning.

Now, at the beginning of the third week after she'd saved that little girl's life, Ziva realized that they had somehow stepped into unfamiliar territory. At work they were still the same bickering partners – in fact, it had probably gotten worse because Ziva absolutely despised being on desk duty and Tony just couldn't resist dialing her buttons – but when they stepped out of the bullpen the game changed. She didn't know what to make of the switch, or the fact that she found that she kind of liked it. Unfamiliar territory, indeed; unfamiliar, but not unknown.

They had done this dance once before, years that felt like entire centuries ago, when Gibbs had decided to escape to Mexico. The dinners, the late nights, those were like echoes of the last time; it was only the openness, the gentleness on her part that was new. There had been attraction before – she hadn't denied it then, and she wouldn't deny it now – but they shared a closeness now that had been absent back then. They shared a past now, one ripe with long nights and betrayal and trust and hundreds of other things.

After all, this was the man who'd traveled to Somalia looking to avenge her supposed death, only to discover her alive (and wounded and broken) and drag her home. So yes, there was openness now, and trust, and belief.

The game had changed and she didn't really know why or when or how, but she couldn't say that she minded. She answered his questions when he asked them, finding that honesty and humility were not hard to come by when she trusted the person asking them.

Now, as she set the bowl of popcorn on her coffee table next to the remote so they could settle down to their Tuesday night movie, she barely noticed when he took his usual seat just a hair's breadth from her on the cushion. They sat too close these days, talked too often and held each other's gazes too long.

Where was this game headed?

Tony had chosen The Shawshank Redemption; she'd made the mistake of saying that she'd never made it through the entire movie earlier that day, and that had sealed it. He wouldn't have let her pick a different movie even if she'd threatened him with bodily harm. She didn't really mind, though, because from what she'd seen it was a good movie.

Perhaps it was fate, however, or some other kind of arbitrary concept, because she only made it about halfway through the movie when her mind started to wander. One moment she was watching Andy Dufresne make his way through prison life and the next her mind had latched onto the idea of redemption and aimed it inward. A wonderful concept, redemption; did it really exist for a person such as herself? Could there be redemption for someone who was trained to be a heartless, soulless killer, as Gibbs had put it? Ziva was no fool – taking another life was a dark act unlike any other in the universe. No matter how she steeled herself against, no matter how she far she pushed the act to the back of her mind, Ziva had felt a little piece of her die with every life she extinguished. How much of her soul did she retain? Was it enough to try for? Worse, was it even worth trying to save?

Perhaps not. Perhaps she had lost her chance at salvation years ago, before she'd really even had a chance to grasp the idea that it might need saving. Maybe she had blackened her heart, bloodied her hands so thoroughly that there was simply no cleaning them. These were not new thoughts for Ziva; she'd entertained many of the same ones during the months she'd spent imprisoned in Somalia. She'd made peace with her situation, come to terms with her death and realized that it was justified. She had given up all hope: hope of life, of redemption, of second chances and goodbyes and new beginnings. She'd given up, given in, and then Saleem had pulled that bag off her head and she found herself catapulted right into the most impossible reprieve.

She had been irrevocably damaged, uncertain that she had the right to take the second chance being offered but nearly incapable of thinking of anything but returning with her team. Her family. Slowly, she had clawed her aching way to the surface of her own personal ring of Hell and begun to put whatever pieces she had left back together. She'd even started to hope again somewhere along the way. She'd thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a way to build upon the rubble.

Until Ray Cruz.

He had shown her the error of her ways. She was alive, yes, but she was not meant for the role of loving wife or doting mother. She was here to atone, in the only way she could: by ensuring that others lived. Perhaps her role was that of guardian, assuming that a guardian could have hands as dirty as hers. She had no way of knowing if that were to be her purpose now, but if it was then she did not resent it. There was much in her past to atone for, and she would have her hands full.

She knew these things, had thought these things through until it felt like someone was drilling a hole through her head, but it did not register with her heart. Oh no; her heart didn't give one whit about redemption or atonement.

Truthfully, all her heart cared about was Tony.

She had closed that door more than once, but it refused to stay locked. She'd thought there was a chance, all those years ago, but she had been too guarded and he hadn't been anywhere near ready. So they'd moved on, ignored that possibility and written it off as too much time spent in close quarters. Except that it had never really gone away for her. She'd shoved it away, hidden it in corners and made sure it didn't rear its ugly head too often. Once or twice she'd thought that maybe they were moving toward each other again, finally in sync with both themselves and each other, but their paths never converged.

She had never expected him to go and do something stupid like save her life. Not after all she had accused him of, not after all her anger and mistakes and general nastiness. Ziva had looked into those eyes, heard his words – "Couldn't live without ya, I guess" – and that was the end. For the rest of her days, the door would never be truly closed for Tony DiNozzo, the man who had come for her even when her own father had not.

That, however, was a secret she would take to her grave. Tony was her partner, her friend, the person she could always count on to have her back; nothing more. They were destined to always be moving in the same direction, but never at the same time or on converging paths. She knew that, could live with it even, because they were still partners. They still had each other's backs, and that was enough for her. It had to be.

"You still awake over there?"

His voice jolted her out of her reverie. How had her thoughts spiraled so far? She'd started with redemption and somehow made her way down to Tony. This was the last time she tried to watch The Shawshank Redemption.

"I became sidetrailed."

"Tracked," He corrected automatically.

"What is tracked?"

"You said sidetrailed, when what you meant was sidetracked; you were sidetracked. I should really start writing these down, I could make a book: The Big Book of Ziva-isms."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but the glare was only half-hearted. She didn't have the energy to be truly cross with him, because the gravity of her thoughts weighed heavily on her heart. She tried to shake it off, but the feeling was persistent.

"Everything okay?" He must have noticed her preoccupation. He'd paused the movie, and now sat looking at her with that earnest expression that always made her want to say more than she intended.

"Fine," She answered with a tight smile. "I think I would like some tea. You?"

"Sure." She was already up and around the couch when he answered. She shuffled around her kitchen, only wincing slightly at the hint of a pull in the area of her ribs when she reached for her mugs. The bruise on her cheek was finally gone, and the one on her ribs was only a hint of the angry purple color it had been. Gibbs was letting her return to field duty this week, which she was grateful for, because she thought if she had to look at one more expense report she might shoot her computer.

She busied herself with thoughts of work as she filled the kettle with water, thinking about anything and everything that would keep her mind off of thoughts of Tony and redemption. She heard his muffled footsteps as he padded into the kitchen behind her, but she didn't dare look at him. Not when he was looking at her with that earnest expression, green eyes dancing in the half light and unruly hair looking just a touch ruffled. She didn't want to see that combination: it suggested too much familiarity, too much … intimacy.

The game had changed, and suddenly she didn't think she liked it. This was not a permanent arrangement; they were not a stupid couple sharing a stupid movie date night, and she wanted to stomp on her own ridiculous heart for even wishing such a thing. They were friends, and partners. That was all.

"What did those mugs ever do to you?"

"What?"

She stopped what she was doing long enough to peer inquisitively at him. She didn't understand the question, or the quirky little smile that had turned up one corner of his mouth.

"You slammed those mugs down so hard I thought they were going to break," He explained, coming over to lean one hip against the counter next to her. He folded both arms across his chest, tipping his chin down ever so slightly as he did so. "What's wrong, Ziva?"

"Nothing. I am fine, Tony." The answer was automatic.

"Okay, let's pretend that you weren't just slamming dishware around; I've known you long enough to recognize that look."

"There is no look." She turned, intending to put some distance between them, but was stopped when one strong hand looped itself around her forearm. She was stopped mid-stride, and when she glanced back at her partner his jaw was set in that firm way that she knew meant he was determined to get to the bottom of something.

Great.

She could fight this. He would push, but she could push back – he would be the first to back down. She knew it, because it had happened countless times before. She could simply lock down, the way she had been taught and practiced for more than half her life, and that would be the end of it. They could add it to the growing list of subjects that they never talked about.

Except she wasn't sure that was what she wanted anymore.

What the hell did she want?

"Do you believe in redemption, Tony?"

Her question must have caught him off guard, because he didn't answer right away but he released his hold on her arm. He held her gaze for long moments as he appeared to consider the question, and she didn't know what to think of his silence. Was he just thinking of what to say, or was he hesitant to answer because she might not like what he had to say?

"As a concept, yes."

"I do not understand." She cocked her head slightly, and for whatever reason the action made him smile.

"I do believe in redemption, but not for everyone. Mothers who murder their children, husbands who beat their wives to death … I don't believe there are enough redeeming acts in the world to save those people."

"What about me?"

That did catch him off guard. His mouth fell open ever so slightly, and he pushed himself off her counter so that he stood straight once again. His gaze had gone from observant to intense in the span of a heartbeat.

"Is that what you're worried about? Redeeming yourself?"

She couldn't hold his gaze any longer. She was not accustomed to sharing her thoughts – well, they were more accurately labeled fears than thoughts – about the state of her soul, and something in his face made her feel very vulnerable all of a sudden.

"I have taken many lives, Tony," She managed to say, her tone quiet even in the near silence of her apartment. "I am not certain that there is anything left of my soul to save, or if it's even worth it."

Many years ago, when Ziva had still been a child, her mother – it had been her mother, hadn't it? – had told her that words had power. Words and names. Ziva had been afraid to admit some wrong doing she had committed, and her mother had come to sit with her where she'd exiled herself in her room. Her mother had told her that, many times, saying the name of a demon or a monster or something equally frightening dispelled its power. Guilt was much the same, she had said: only after admitting to it, owning up to the mistake, could you begin to move past the guilt and start to heal. Ziva had taken that lesson to heart, and had lived by it right up until the loss of her sister. There had been no words to express the guilt that Ziva had felt then, for failing to be there and failing to protect her sister. After that, the demons and the guilt had piled upon one another so quickly that she couldn't keep up, and the lesson had been buried. All these years later, Ziva felt certain that she could spend every day for the rest of her life naming demons and voicing offenses and never reach the end of her list.

Only now, in this moment, did she begin to wonder if maybe she was wrong. Maybe the failure wasn't in her inability to get through the list, but in her failure to start at all.

"Hey." Tony pulled her against his chest and into a hug, wrapping both arms around her before she could even think of protesting. He smelled like cologne and popcorn, a strange but not unpleasant smell. She could count the number of times they'd hugged on one hand. "You've saved lives too, ya know, more than I can count. No one can change their past, Ziva, but you have full control over your future. And don't ever let me hear you say that you don't have a soul, or that it's not worth saving, because you are wrong on both counts."

His words, spoken softly from a place just above her head, wormed their way straight to her heart. This was not silly work Tony, this was serious private Tony; the two were similar, and yet somehow separate. She had been surprised many years ago to learn that for all of his jokes and silly quips, Tony was more than capable of a depth of feeling that many people would not expect. That duality was one of the things that had first intrigued her about him.

The kettle had begun to whistle, but she was still locked contently in the circle of her partner's arms. There was something steadying about Tony's hugs, as if she had been trying to make her way through the world slightly off kilter and his arms set her to rights again. She wondered if he would laugh at her if she were ever to tell him that.

"That has to be the most annoying sound in the world."

"Do not be ridiculous. Have you heard every sound in the world?" She retorted.

"Don't get smart with me, Zee-vah." He added that little snap to the end of her name and released her. She tried not to think of the absence of him and stepped over to her stove, lifting the offending kettle off of its place on the surface. She poured water into both mugs and then placed it on one of the cold burners to stave off any more whistling.

She dipped a bag of Earl Grey into the mug that she had deemed hers, and turned to ask Tony whether he would prefer Early Grey or Chamomile; that was as far as she got.

* * *

><p>Tony considered himself a fairly spontaneous person: he did what felt good, what felt right, what his gut told him was the perfect thing to do. He lived most of his life that way, except maybe at work. There, his spontaneity was tempered with caution, a necessity in his line of work.<p>

Rarely did his own spontaneity catch Tony off guard.

He had pulled Ziva into his arms on impulse, because the quiet ache that had blossomed in his chest as he stood listening to her doubt the existence of her soul or its worthiness did something to his heart. He did not deny that Eli David had damaged his daughter – that he had allowed Mossad to build upon that damage, to throw coal on the fire that was trying to consume her – but Tony had never doubted the existence of Ziva's heart, or soul. She was fierce, and maybe even sometimes ruthless, but she was not cruel; she could disarm or even kill a person in a matter of seconds, but she took no joy in either act. He had always known these truths about her, had never doubted that every life she took left a black mark on her conscience. He wanted to demand to know how she couldn't see those truths for herself, but he already knew the answer: when someone has spent their life being molded into a certain thing, and then told repeatedly that they not only succeeded but that they broke the mold, well … repeat something often enough and it will become truth, the saying went. _Be my weapon_, her father had said; _Kill for us,_ Mossad had said. So she had, and she was still paying the price.

So he held her close, both arms wrapped tightly around her lithe form, because at least in this moment he could provide comfort. He had a chance to at least dampen those rabid flames licking at her soul, even if the effect was minimal. He held her and smelled her hair and tried not to think of the first time he had truly realized that she hadn't died on that damn ship, or the broken way she had looked at him in that elevator and told him that she couldn't take anymore. The idea of Ziva, his idiom-challenged partner and tireless warrior, being beaten down by the world's cruelty was more than he could handle.

He held her longer than he should have, maybe, but he willed every last ounce of strength and fortitude in him to reach out and engulf her, to buoy her spirit above the darkness and help her keep her footing.

When he finally did release her, it was only because the whistling of the tea -kettle made him want to smash his hands over his ears to block out the sound. He watched her movements as she stepped away from him, taking the kettle with her, so graceful even at such a mundane task.

Did she really believe that she was lost to that darkness?

He should have left the room, made some excuse to get back to the living room so he could collect himself. A red flag went up somewhere in his mind, a warning that he was getting too close and this could all end so badly, but it went unheeded. It had been so long since Tony had been so unguarded around another person, so long since he'd felt his heart engage before his physical or animal senses that it might not have mattered even if he had heard the warning.

One minute he was simply watching her, cataloging the way her hands moved deftly from one mug to the other, and the next it felt like his entire being was propelling him forward. Heart, mind, soul, it was all screaming at him to charge when his knee-jerk reaction was to fall back.

Ziva had turned to say something, long chocolate tresses falling into her eye as it cascaded over one shoulder, when he smothered whatever words she had been about to say.

They had kissed before, but not like this. Never like this. He had forgotten how soft her lips were, how the velvet of her mouth felt subtly different from any other woman he'd kissed. Seconds that felt like eons passed before she responded – her shock must have been so much more than his own – but respond she did. Softly at first, as if she wasn't certain this was really happening or that he wasn't about to pull away, but she was kissing him back.

One hand came up to brush softly against the cheek that had been bruised so recently, then kept going to tangle in her hair. She stepped into him, encouraged, and the passion pressed in around them like a familiar blanket.

He had to step back. This was not some woman he might have a chance of going home with; this was Ziva, the only woman who'd ever had any kind of consistency in his life. This was important: her, and him, and whatever he'd just done to propel their situation into new territory.

Surprise seemed a wildly inadequate word, suddenly - Tony's spontaneity had just knocked him on his ass.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note: Hello again! Hope everyone had a good weekend; I was out of town, which is why this update took longer than the others. Thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/alerted/favorited this story so far, I'm glad to know that you are enjoying it! As always, any literary, grammatical or other mistakes are mine. There's kind of a lot happening in this chapter even though it's shorter than the last - hopefully I have presented it in a way that is clear and easily understood. I look forward to hearing what you guys think!**_

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><p>The nasty little voice in the back of his mind that derived joy from nothing more than berating him endlessly was alive and active before he'd really even opened his eyes that morning, gleefully pointing out all the reasons that he was a first class idiot. The little bastard kept up a running commentary throughout his morning ablutions; by the time he was buckling himself in behind the driver's seat of his car, he was ready to pull out his beautiful hair because, really, <em>what the hell had he been thinking?<em>

Oh wait.

Tony knew exactly what he'd been thinking: that an unguarded Ziva was simply more than he could handle; that the play of shadows across her face had driven his thoughts into a place of darkened rooms and fervent whispers; and, lastly, he had been thinking that he wanted to crush her to him and show her just how much she was really worth.

Still, he spent most of the drive quietly telling himself that he had finally gone bat-shit crazy. Like, break out the strait jackets and bad Alfred Hitchcock movie references crazy. She had been sharing something personal with him, opening up to him like she only did … well, almost never, and then he'd gone and sprung a kiss on her. A passionate kiss, which she had not only permitted but responded to …

Tony shook his head and pushed those thoughts away. He was going to drive himself crazy if he kept this up and the last thing he needed was to be off his game and draw Gibbs' (unwanted) attention. Oh no, all thoughts of his partner and the little conundrum they now found themselves in would simply have to wait.

He was the last one to the bullpen again. He parked between McGee and Ziva, only briefly wondering when that had become par for the course or why it continued to be part of their routine as he grabbed his bag and headed for the elevator. He didn't really want to admit it, but it was strange to make the ride up alone after spending the last few weeks driving his partner around.

The elevator slid to a stop, and Tony took a deep breath just as the machine dinged to let him know that he had arrived. He exhaled, waited for the doors to slide open, and then stepped casually from the elevator.

"Come on, Ziva, please?" Abby's voice assaulted him almost immediately, and he rounded the corner to see the scientist standing next to his partner, who was looking very intently at something in her hand.

"I am not sure, Abby." Ziva sounded hesitant, but there was something under the hesitation that Tony recognized as curiosity. What were they talking about?

"Tony!" Abby exclaimed then, waving excitedly. He grinned – Abby always made him smile (except when she didn't) – and tossed his bag onto the floor behind his desk.

"Morning, Abs. Whatcha got there?"

"Trying to talk Ziva into going to this concert with me."

"Oh?" He moved toward his partner's desk, surreptitiously watching for any awkwardness in her movements. She glanced his way before he'd taken more than three steps, and he did a quick study of her expression. She was a master at making herself unreadable, but he didn't sense any kind of tension or awkwardness from her. Ziva met his eye and smiled a good morning, just like any other morning. Inwardly, he heaved a silent sigh of relief.

"Who's playing?" He inquired, looking from one woman to the other.

"Android Lust," Abby supplied while Ziva handed him the ticket she held. He glanced at it, noting that it was this Friday night and that he didn't recognize the venue. "You should come too, Tony! It'll be like a team bonding night – Tim already said he'd be there!"

"He did?" Tony and Ziva chorused, looking from Abby to where McGee sat calmly at his computer.

"I did." He nodded and spared only a quick glance their way, long enough to smirk at them as if they were being left out of some big secret.

"You do realize it's a concert, Magoo?" Tony couldn't resist – it was just too easy. "The kind with other living, breathing, non-digital people? Well, for the most part, I think – I mean, they do call themselves Android Lust…"

"I will go, Abby." Ziva's agreement cut his tirade short. Abby clapped her hands, grinning widely, but Tony could only turn surprised eyes at the woman behind him.

"You too?" He exclaimed in mock indignation, but no one was listening.

"You should let me do your makeup, Ziva!" Abby was spouting, grasping the other woman's hand. "Before you say no, I promise not to do anything too wild! Oh, and I'll come over Friday after work so we can pick out something to wear. This is gonna be so awesome!"

Tony almost laughed at the picture his mind conjured of Ziva in a pair of Abby's wild platform shoes, a studded dog collar around her neck and her lips painted fire engine red. That was not at all like any version of Ziva he had seen so far, and it seemed almost impossible to imagine.

So Abby, McGee and Ziva were going to a concert, huh? Team building, Abby had called it; he tried to picture the four of them in a dingy arena listening to outrageously loud music. Their little band of government officials, trading in suits and badges for band t-shirts and temporary deafness. He glanced at the ticket he still held in his hand, then at the animated faces of his teammates: they had never done anything like this before.

Android Lust, huh? Well, it was no Sinatra, but he supposed Frank would forgive him for expanding his horizons …

"Count me in too, Abs," He heard himself say.

Abby had just let out a squeal and thrown her arms in the air – presumably to wrap them around him – when Gibbs rounded on them, coffee in hand.

"Grab your gear," He barked.

"I'll give you twenty bucks if you can talk Gibbs into going," Tony whispered conspiratorially, winking at Abby.

"Make it fifty," Ziva retorted.

"Challenge accepted!"

The last Tony saw of Abby she was skipping her way out of the bullpen.

* * *

><p>Their body had been found in an unlicensed Honda down by the pier and called in by a warehouse worker on his morning smoke break. Ziva was not far away, talking to the man who had made the call; McGee was on bag and tag, and Tony had pulled camera duty. After so many years of close association, they had the process down to an art. Tony was proud of the way their team moved in sync with one another, weaving and flowing around one another as they processed the scene. He liked to think it was a testament to their time together, a silent but obvious acknowledgement of how connected they were.<p>

That didn't stop him from throwing out some movie references, or rolling his eyes when McGee didn't pick up on them as quickly as Tony expected him to.

"Honestly, Magoo, do you even watch movies?" He chided as the other man dropped a quarter inch of wire into an evidence bag. Tony feigned disgust and shoved the camera in McGee's face, snapping a picture before he could push it away.

"Are you trying to blind me, Tony?"

"They're just spots, McWhiner."

"Spots of what?"

Tony leapt sideways with and undignified gasp, which brought a quiet chuckle from where Ziva had snuck up behind him.

"Would you quit doing that!" Tony demanded, one hand over his heartbeat.

"Doing what?" She asked innocently.

"Sneaking up on people – namely me!"

"I did not sneak, Tony; perhaps you are losing your hearing. I do not see any spots."

"My hearing is fine, thank you very much. And I was just telling McGee that he was seeing spots."

"Why are you seeing spots, McGee?" Ziva asked, cocking her head ever so slightly at him.

"Because Tony flashed me with that stupid camera."

"You three plan on getting any work done?"

The three of them instantly turned their attention to Gibbs, who stood behind their little half circle with his notebook in hand. Almost contrite, Tony motioned with the camera in a general circle.

"Photos complied with, boss."

"Car's mostly clean," McGee picked up. "Got what looks like a shell casing and a wad of gum."

"Would the killer truly be stupid enough to spit out his gum?" Ziva asked in consternation. "The man who called in the car, a Jeffrey Basinger, says he noticed it this morning upon arriving to work. Did not think anything of it until two hours later, when he came outside to have a smoke."

Tony glanced back to the car. Their victim's fingerprints had identified him as one Gunnery Sergeant Dylan Hicks, but he had no identifying papers or insignia on him of any kind. He was wearing the standard Marine uniform, but someone – presumably his killer – had taken the time to take the name and rank insignia off his uniform before dumping him. Both hands had been tied to the steering wheel with baling twine, but Tony had known on first glance that Hicks had been dead before he'd gotten in the car: there was very little sign of blood despite the obvious gunshot wound to the stomach.

Gibbs glanced around, obviously looking for something, and then turned back to them. "Where the hell …"

"I'm here, Jethro." Ducky's familiar accent cut Gibbs off mid-question. He and Jimmy were headed their way, equipment in hand, and Tony wondered if maybe his hearing was a little off today because he hadn't heard them pull up.

"Glad to see you've been released from desk duty, Agent David." Ducky grinned at Ziva as he walked by, to which Ziva answered with a small smile and a "thank you, Ducky". Tony, who had been watching their exchange, found his eyes lingering on his partner even after the doctor had moved on. Despite their kiss the night before, Ziva was all calm professionalism; it made him feel momentarily silly for fearing that it would get in the way of their working relationship. Which led him to another observation: of all the other women Tony had ever known or dated, Ziva was the only one he truly believed capable of keeping her work life and home life separate.

He knew he was caught when chocolate eyes shifted and locked onto his own. She had probably known the moment he looked her way, but her expression was neither irritated nor surprised. She simply returned his gaze, perhaps waiting to see what he would do now that he was caught.

His answer was simply to look away. He didn't rush it, didn't even feel awkward at being caught in his regard of her; he simply turned his attention back to the task at hand.

"…I'll be able to tell you more once he's on my table, of course," Ducky was saying. "But based on temperature and lividity, I estimate time of death between two and four a.m."

"Early to bed, early to rise," Tony muttered to himself.

"Alright team, wrap it up. We'll see you back at the Yard, Duck."

The trio fell in behind their fearless leader as they made their way back to the Charger. Whether on purpose or out of habit, Tony noticed that he and Ziva seemed to gravitate naturally towards one another. McGee was on his left, so they were strung out in a line, but Tony knew without looking that he and Ziva walked closer together. Had they always done that and he'd just never noticed, or was it new?

"Do you really think Abby'll be able to talk Gibbs into going to the concert?" McGee asked then.

Tony and Ziva glanced quickly at each other and then broke into chortles of laughter simultaneously.

"Absolutely not, McGullible."

"Not a snowman's chance in Hell."

"Snowball," Tony and McGee chorused.

They had just reached the Charger and Tony waited until McGee had slid into his seat to catch Ziva's eye and lean over to murmur, "That one's going in the book."

* * *

><p>The car ride back to the Yard was silent. Tony found himself staring out the window, allowing his thoughts free rein for the first time since he'd gotten to work. He wondered who exactly Dylan Hicks was and what misfortune had befallen him, what sequence of events had led to his eventual death. That train of thought took him to a darker place, full of wonderings about what loved ones their victim had left behind. Did he have a wife out there somehow, beside herself with worry because her husband had failed to return home? Did he have children, siblings, a network of people that loved him and held his well being closely tied to their own? Which would be worse, he wondered: delivering the life changing news to a distraught family, or finding that Dylan Hicks had been as alone in life as he had been in death?<p>

There was a horror in knowing that life could be cut short so suddenly; that it could all come screeching to a halt with no warning and even less reason. Death didn't have to make sense – in fact, Tony was of the mind that it was one of the few things that _never_ made sense. He had seen enough of it to know that the only thing truly guaranteed in life was its end, one way or another, sooner or later. When they'd lost Kate … when they'd lost Kate, Tony had truly grasped the frailty of human life. He'd thought the lesson had been driven home then, but it had come back to slap them in the face years later with the loss of Jenny Shepherd. In fact, that particular lesson seemed to be the one most intent on making itself known. Kate, Jenny, Paula, Mike Franks … Ziva. Not really, he knew, but for nearly four months he had believed the woman who now sat behind him to be dead. All those losses, the absence of so many people that he had known and cared for, and yet he'd let that lesson slip away from him. Again.

_What the hell was he thinking?_

A clarity of thought – of purpose – came over him then like a wave breaking upon the rocks. The uncertainty that had plagued him for most of the day evaporated like a drop of water in the desert. All of his posturing and excuses and reasoning suddenly paled in comparison to that one hidden truth that had never left him, no matter how ardently he denied it.

A plan had formed itself in his mind before he'd even made the conscious decision to _make_ a plan; it was simple, yes, one of his most simple ones to date probably, but he felt that it was perhaps the most honest one he'd ever made.

Gibbs was just pulling into the Navy Yard when the first hint of a smile graced Tony's lips. He couldn't say that he finally knew what he wanted, because that would be a lie: he'd known what it was for some time now. All that had changed was his determination to go after it.

To go after _her._

Gibbs' rules be damned.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note: Hi again! Everyone still with me? I hope so, cause we're getting into the really good stuff! I apologize for any mistakes. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and (as always) your reviews make my day! :-)**_

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><p>Ziva was tired.<p>

She hated admitting to it, even if it was just to herself. She was thankful to be back in the field with her team, and doubly thankful that her ribs had not pained her once throughout the day; those things aside, she had to admit that she hadn't enjoyed the best night of sleep last night. Or the night before, for that matter. Tuesday night she'd been unable to go to sleep for several hours after Tony had left, her mind too busy replaying their kiss and the circumstances surrounding it to give her any kind of peace. Over and over again she'd seen the glint of sea-green eyes just before he'd kissed her, felt his fingers ghost across her cheek and his hand tangle in her hair. The more she'd tried to bury it, the sharper the memory had become, until she'd had no choice but to let her mind wander where it would.

She didn't know what to think of the places it had taken her.

At first, her thoughts had followed the obvious path: why had he kissed her? She couldn't delude herself into even considering that it had been merely to comfort her, although she thought that maybe that had been an aspect of it. She had felt the passion in that kiss, however, had recognized it instantly as more. So why had he done it? The easy answer – and the one that her heart immediately leapt to – was that they were finally on the same path. Maybe, for the first time in years, they were actually at the same place in their lives; if that were true though, what did it mean? Ziva knew that her relationship with Tony went somewhere past the line of "just partners", but just how far she didn't know. There had always been the possibility of more between them – was that where he was intending to take them?

She had finally convinced herself to just let it go somewhere around midnight that night.

Wednesday had passed just as countless others before it. She had let Abby talk her into going to a concert, which she was oddly enough looking forward to, and the Hicks case had dropped; her interactions with Tony were just as casual and meaningless as they were every other day. Except, of course, for his comment about "putting that one in the book" – she hadn't needed to ask what he meant. It was the only time he'd alluded to the night before all that day.

This brought Ziva back to the here and now: a quarter past five on Thursday, inwardly lamenting how tired she was because she'd once again spent the night before thinking about useless things.

"Why did you say yes?"

Useless things that looked and sounded a lot like Tony DiNozzo.

"What are you talking about, Tony?" She looked away from her computer to find him watching her with those enticing green eyes, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Why did you agree to go to the concert with Abby?"

His question caught her off guard. She would not have expected such a question from him, but even more than that she knew that he had no way of knowing that she had asked herself that same question almost the moment she had agreed to Abby's request.

"Because it is not the first time she has asked, and because she is my friend. Why did you?"

"Because I wanted to."

She knew there was more to it than that because she could see it written all over his features, but she refrained from pressing the issue. Whatever his motivation, she didn't think it really mattered; all that mattered was that they had made Abby happy by (finally) agreeing to go.

Assuming, of course, that work stayed out of their way long enough to actually let them attend.

"She'll be pretty upset if we have to work."

Ziva's eyes snapped to his, surprised that his words had echoed her own thoughts so closely. He must have seen something in the sharpness of her expression because he gave her a little grin and came around to perch on the corner of her desk, close enough to touch.

"I'm getting better at reading you," He told her quietly.

She chuckled and couldn't resist the challenge. "I do not think so."

"What's the matter, Zee-vah," He teased, adding that snap to her name like only he did. "Afraid that someone might get past that wall of yours and get a peek at what's inside?"

"I own a wall?" Her head tipped slightly to the right in bafflement as she tried to decide whether or not this was another one of those American sayings that she always got wrong.

"Metaphorical wall," He elaborated. "The one you keep around yourself. Ya know, cause it's safe."

"I do not have a wall!"

"You do. Admit it, Ziva. C'mon, let me hear you say it."

"Tony, I do not have a wall."

"Oh? When was the last time you went on a date?"

She opened her mouth to fire off a retort, but closed it quickly when she realized that she couldn't actually remember the last date she'd been on. She cast her mind back over the last few months and came to the realization that the last time she'd been out was with Ray.

"I admit that has been … some time since I last went out," She finally admitted grudgingly.

Ziva glanced away from her desk and met his gaze. His expression was unreadable, and they watched each other for long moments as she tried to discern what he was thinking. She had expected him to tease her for her confession, but instead he was watching her with a thinly veiled intensity that almost made her want to squirm.

"Prove it."

She arched a single eyebrow. "Prove what?"

"That you don't have a wall."

Ziva's eyes narrowed as she regarded the casual way he was perched on her desk, in direct opposition to the spark she saw hiding in his gaze. "How?"

"Go on a date."

"A date?"

"Yes. A date. With me. Tonight."

For all of their past, and the kiss they had shared just nights before, she had never expected something like this. Her mouth felt as though it were scraping the floor in her surprise. Anthony DiNozzo was asking her out on a date?

There was a saying for this – she knew there was – but her incapacity to grasp common idioms was once again getting in her way.

"You are … asking me out on a date?"

"Yes."

She scrutinized his face – such a handsome, familiar face – but he seemed perfectly at ease. There was no doubt in his gaze, no uncertainty or even nervousness to be found. Where was this coming from? What had finally driven him to this point?

More pressingly, what was her answer?

"Tonight?" She repeated, although she knew the answer

"An hour and a half, to be precise." The corner of his mouth was starting to pull upwards in that silly smirk of his that only came out when he knew that he had something on her. For some reason that was unknown to her (because she simply refused to acknowledge the bubble of rising anticipation in her chest), the sight of that smirk had her suddenly grinning.

"That is a very … exact time," She said carefully, watching his eyes dance with mirth.

"You can't make a reservation with a vague one."

He shoved off her desk and made his way back to his, only glancing back at her once he was seated in his own chair. The tumult of warring emotions and thoughts was so acute that for a moment she forgot to keep her composure; for the second time in a matter of minutes, Tony had succeeded in completely surprising her.

"How did you know I would say yes?" She couldn't resist asking.

"I didn't."

Her brow furrowed in consternation. "Then why did you make a reservation?"

He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. "I took a chance. I hoped."

The strangest feeling blossomed within her chest then, a nameless thing that started as a pinpoint of light and then billowed outwards to infuse every corner of her being with warmth. Ziva was not accustomed to hearing the word "hope" in conjunction with anything concerning herself; she had never been on the receiving end of such a sweet and open gesture, and certainly never imagined that such a gesture would come from Tony. Not because he wasn't capable of it, of course, or because she didn't believe him to be that kind of man, but because it was them. She had never met two people with a more complicated or twisted history.

More than that, it did something to her soul knowing that Tony – a man who was just as unaccustomed to being open and vulnerable as she was – had chosen not only to take that chance, but to take it with _her._

"Has Ziva David finally been rendered speechless?" His taunt was light-hearted, meant to draw her out of whatever cloud or shell she had hidden herself in, and she knew it; knew it, and rewarded him.

"You wish, Tony."

"Oh, I dunno, Ziva – I kinda like the sound of your voice."

Had there ever been any doubt in her mind? Had there ever been any answer except yes?

Perhaps – but that was many years and lifetimes ago.

"Is this a black jacket kind of date?"

His smile was dazzling. "You mean black _tie_, and no – what you're wearing is fine."

"Fine for what, DiNozzo?" A new voice queried

They both glanced up to see Gibbs rounding the corner from the elevator, and Ziva did her best to school her features back to easy indifference in the face of his arrival.

"Just explaining to Ziva the meaning of a black tie affair, boss," Tony answered immediately.

"Expensive. Go home, you two; tomorrow's gonna be an early day."

Ziva wasn't sure she'd ever been more excited – or more nervous – at the prospect of going home.

* * *

><p>Despite his assurance that the clothes she had worn to work would suffice, Ziva changed as soon as she got home; more than once. Her first choice was dressier than the cargo pants and scoop neck blouse she'd worn to work, and she'd only worn it long enough to walk to the bathroom when she decided that this dressier outfit wasn't right. So she'd headed straight back to her bedroom and changed back into her work clothes, all the while chiding herself for being nervous and indecisive when this was just Tony.<p>

Except that he'd never really been _just_ Tony.

She finally decided to keep the pants but change the shirt. She chose a deep red one – also a scoop neck – that managed to make her look both casual and flirty. She examined herself in the mirror for a minute, but turned away before she could change her mind again. She moved instead to the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth again and scrutinized her hair. She'd worn it in a ponytail all day and briefly considered letting it down; in the end she settled for leaving it up, but refreshing the curl at the bottom.

By the time she declared herself ready, Ziva was amazed to see that only half an hour had passed. The knot of anticipation in her stomach coiled and uncoiled itself repeatedly as she did her best not to ruminate on what the night might hold, deciding that her nervousness might be lessened with a steaming cup of tea. Tony wasn't coming to pick her up for another forty -five minutes, so at the very least making tea would help keep her occupied.

She made the tea on autopilot, her thoughts leaving the subject of her anticipation to turn inward once more. The thought had occurred to her earlier that although she had seen Tony with many women in their years as partners, she had never actually seen him take someone on a date. He never mentioned his plans or talked about what he had done with his date – other than that one night he had emerged from the bathroom at work dressed as Elvis – and she had never thought to ask. Well, that wasn't exactly accurate: she had wondered once or twice what a date with Tony would be like, but she never would have asked. Now, it seemed she wouldn't have to. She thought that perhaps that sense of mystery surrounding Tony and his personal life was part of the reason she felt so … anxious about their date: she had absolutely zero idea what to expect from the evening.

These thoughts and more rumbled around in her brain as she filled a mug with hot water and dropped a teabag into it. She pulled the kettle away from the heat and crossed into her living room, but she'd barely managed to take her first drink when a knock sounded against her door. Her heart rate skyrocketed with the sound, and she forced herself to take a deep breath against the wild flutter of her stomach.

Ziva was almost certain that it was Tony on the other side of the door, but her caution and training wouldn't let her answer the door without glancing out the peephole first. When she did, she found that her view was obscured by something red.

She opened the door to a smiling Tony, who was twirling a single red rose in one hand.

"How did you know I would look?" She asked, gesturing vaguely at the view hole even as a smile tugged at her lips.

"Because I know you." He shrugged slightly and held out the rose, which had just started to unfold. She took it and couldn't resist bringing it to her nose as she stood aside and waved him into the apartment.

"Did you also know that I would be wearing red?" She challenged.

"As much as I would like to say yes … no. That was unintentional."

He had changed out of his suit and opted instead for a dark grey button up, although he'd stuck with a nice pair of slacks. Tony looked wonderful standing there across from her, and her smile unaccountably widened as she once again reminded herself that he was here for her.

"Let me put this in a vase." She moved past him and into the kitchen to retrieve the aforementioned object, almost glancing over her shoulder when she heard the footsteps that signaled that he was following her.

"So where are we going?" She asked conversationally

"It's a surprise."

"Tony." She half glared at him, but his wide eyes just danced in silent laughter.

"Ziva."

"You really are not going to tell me?"

"I told you, it's a surprise. You might wanna bring a jacket though – it could get cold."

She huffed in feigned indignation and set the vase – which now proudly sported a beautiful rose – on the counter next to her. She should have known better than to even ask him, but she hadn't really expected him to keep quiet about it. The jacket suggestion, however, set her mind to whirling as she tried to posit what their evening might possibly entail.

Ziva pushed herself away from the counter and headed straight for him – intending to move past him so that she might grab a coat, per his suggestion – when he reached out and surprised her by taking her hand. She thought she saw something akin to doubt flit across his expression then, but it left quickly; he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a warm kiss to the bare skin of her wrist. The action was both chaste and intimate and she wondered if he could feel her pulse falter under his lips. Ziva was fairly certain that she had never been kissed there before.

"You look beautiful, Ziva." His voice had taken on that low, scratchy timbre that made her want to shiver or squirm or throw him against the wall and kiss him breathless.

"I look the same as I have all day, Tony." She was amazed at how steady her voice sounded, when every nerve ending in her body was practically vibrating.

"I know." He released her hand and her skin felt as though it was burning where his lips had touched. "Go get a coat."

It was a testament to her willpower that she was able to move at all.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note: So I know this update took a little longer, but in my defense it is the longest one yet. I had a hard time starting it, but then it just kinda took off with me, so ... I thought about breaking it into two chapters, but I think I like it better as one complete one. On another note, as much as I would like to respond to each and every review you wonderful people have given, the fact is that I simply don't have the time. I'm sorry for that, but know that your words are very much appreciated, and that I recognize those of you who keep coming back. Thank you! Now on with the good stuff ... I look forward to hearing your thoughts! **_

* * *

><p>Tony was generally a confident person; he was not, however, accustomed to asking Ziva David out on a date. He hadn't intended to change his clothes, but by the time he'd gotten home he was so nervous that he'd done it just to have something to do. He hadn't bothered to give himself the "this is just your partner" speech, because it would have been untrue for countless reasons. Instead, he'd just double and triple checked that he had everything needed for their date packed away in the trunk of his car and headed to her apartment ten minutes earlier than he'd intended.<p>

The rose had been a spur of the moment decision that he'd almost second guessed, right up until she opened the apartment door and he saw the look that crossed her face; the fact that she was wearing red had only been a happy coincidence, but a part of him took it as a good sign. Tony had been told that he came up with fun, original date ideas by more than one woman, but he felt even more pressure than usual to make this night memorable. He didn't want Ziva to just have a good time, he wanted it to stand out in her memory as a great date and a great night, no matter what happened. He'd made reservations at the restaurant the same day he'd decided to pursue her, despite the risk that she might turn him down, because it was the only one he wanted to take her to; he'd watched the weather forecast all week, and made sure to check it as soon as he got home from work; and, of course, he'd made sure to memorize the park schedule. Now, standing in Ziva's living room, watching as she made preparations to leave, Tony thought that maybe his luck with the rose would hold out for the night.

"I am ready." Her declaration came on the heels of a smile, and he couldn't keep himself from returning it. In a fit of spontaneity (which was fitting, he supposed, because that was what had gotten him here in the first place), he held out one crooked arm and waited until she had looped hers through it before setting off.

As soon as they stepped outside, Tony sent a silent prayer of thanks to the The Powers That Be for keeping the weather mild. The last thing he wanted was to disappear inside for ten minutes only to emerge into some kind of freak rainstorm, thus ruining his best laid plans for the evening.

"You really are not going to tell me where we are going?" The woman on his arm asked.

"What's the matter, Ziva, you don't like surprises?" He teased as they stopped next to the passenger door of his car. He leaned down to open her door for her, one half of his attention on what he was doing with the door and the other on her reply.

"Not generally, no," She answered finally.

"Seriously? I thought everyone liked surprises – especially women."

"Perhaps that is so, for other women. In my experience, surprises are dangerous."

Tony almost ground his teeth in frustration; this had to be a record, even for him. They hadn't even made it to the car yet and he'd already put his foot in his mouth – that was a first. The fact that Ziva did not look upset with him, or even perturbed at his folly, only made him feel like even more of an asshole.

He was frantically scanning his mind for something to say, some way to rectify his blunder when Ziva suddenly gave him a soft smile.

"You did not do anything wrong, Tony. You asked a question, and I answered; obviously I know that this surprise in particular will not be a bad one."

He did the first thing he could think of – or tried, at least. "Our reservations …"

Ziva, in a startling display of spontaneity that was somehow just like her and yet somehow not, silenced him with a quick, chaste kiss. "I do not think I want to know."

"But … you just said you don't like surprises." Tony was confused, not only by her conflicting sentiments but also by the fact that her lips had been there one second and gone the next, before he could fully register what was happening or even kiss her back.

"Perhaps it is time that I learn."

She slid into the passenger seat before he could form a response.

_Why_ did women have to be so _confusing?_

* * *

><p><em>Villa Venezia<em> was a small Italian restaurant that spanned the bottom floor of a three story building made of the old red bricks that always made Tony think of old Western towns. He had known of its existence for several years and wanted to try it out, but could never find it in himself to bring a date. There was something about the simple exterior that suggested intimacy, as if it were the sort of place where someone could establish a routine; a place you kept coming back to, until you knew the owners and servers by name and didn't have to ask for a menu. So he'd never brought a date here, even though it meant that he didn't come either.

Until tonight; _Villa Venezia_ was the only restaurant Tony had even considered for their date. Following the waitress to their table at that moment, Ziva just a few inches in front of him, Tony knew that he had made the right choice. The walls were decorated with black and white photos of Venice, interspersed every so often with one brightly colored one that really stood out amongst its counterparts. Everything –from the rutilant glow of the lights to the soft strains of classical music – suggested a heightened sense of closeness.

Tony was impressed.

Their waitress ushered them into a corner booth, placing their menus in front of them as she introduced herself and promised to return for their drink orders.

"This is very beautiful," Ziva said appreciatively, glancing at her surroundings. "It feels very much like Venice."

"I know I shouldn't even have to ask, but I will anyway: you've been to Venice?"

What he really wanted to know – but would never ask – was if she had been to Venice with another man; Rivkin, perhaps, or some other significant other that he didn't know about it. Not that it was any of his business, which was (just one) of the reasons that he would never ask.

"I was young, and do not remember all of it. What I do remember is my mother, and how much she loved Italian food. It was … our last vacation as a family."

"I'm sorry if this place brings up bad memories," He said softly, watching the flickers of light as they danced across her countenance. "I just thought …"

"It is perfect, Tony." She smiled again, that secretive little quirk of her mouth that he had come to love. "Of all the memories to be reminded of, I am glad that it is that one."

Ziva rarely spoke of her siblings, but he had, on occasion, had the privilege of hearing her mention one or both of them. Despite his inherent hatred for Ari and what he had done, he could not say that he didn't want to know this other version of him: Ziva's brother. The same went for Tali; he was curious to know more about the girl whom his partner had loved so whole-heartedly. This, however, was the first and only time that Tony had ever heard Ziva mention her mother – in fact, he wasn't even sure he knew her name. Perhaps, if things went well and he played his cards right, he could ask her about them one day.

They fell into conversation without effort. For a long while they talked of regular things, topics deemed safe enough to broached but light enough that they wouldn't ruin the mood. They seemed to naturally gravitate away from work, which pleasantly surprised him and made his earlier deduction seem all the more appropriate: if anyone could keep work and home life separate, it was Ziva. He could not – or perhaps, more rightly, would not – posit a reason as to why that knowledge warmed him the way it did.

As their conversation ventured into more personal territory – Tony regaled her with stories of his years in college, in exchange for her stories of what it school was like for her in Israel – he was heartened by the fact that her laughter was never absent for long. Ziva seemed perfectly at ease where she sat across from him, even when their food came and Tony succeeded in stabbing some of her Penne Gorgonzola with his fork. She didn't even bother to threaten him with bodily harm – she just reached across the table and stole some of his Spaghetti; their laughter reverberated around the room.

"So, can I ask you something?" He inquired after their laughter had died.

"Shot."

"Shoot."

"Whatever."

"Don't you ever go by a nickname? Ya know, like McGee is Tim instead of Timothy; I'm Tony, rather than Anthony. But you're always Ziva."

"Is there something wrong with my name?" She teased. "It is just as short as yours."

"Just curious," He answered with a shrug.

"When she was first learning to talk, Tali could not say my name. She would get so frustrated that she would just stop at 'Zi', and it stuck. At least, it stuck with Tali and Ari. My mother called me … hmm, how do you say … sparrow, yes?"

"Sparrow?" He repeated.

"A sparrow is a small bird of song, is it not?"

He couldn't resist a chuckle at her phrasing. "Sparrows like to sing, yes. Wait, are you telling me that you used to sing?"

"I still do, occasionally, although only in the privacy of my own home."

Tony added another goal to his ever- growing list of things to accomplish: get Ziva to sing for him.

"So your siblings called you Zi, and your mother called you sparrow?"

"Yes, for awhile. After we lost Tali, and my mother left, there were no more nicknames in our house. I was simply 'Ziva'."

Tony didn't say it, but it hurt his heart a little to hear these things. Knowing that so much of Ziva's life had just … stopped existing, in a sense, with the loss of her sister that had – inadvertently or not – contributed to the destruction of her family. Tony loved his nickname; he loved giving people nicknames, because to him it spoke of a sort of belonging. There was something about knowing that he had people in his life that he was close enough with to have a nickname that made him feel like he belonged.

"Sing for me," He said on a whim.

"You are not serious."

"Dead."

"You are dead?"

"Honestly, Ziva, how have you been here this long and still manage to get these wrong?"

"Well perhaps you should make me a book," She quipped slyly, and his accompanying laugh rang off the walls.

"Don't change the subject. You should sing for me."

"I am not singing for you, Tony."

"Please? I'm serious now, I would be very happy to hear you sing."

He recognized the way she was evaluating him, those dark eyes tracing the lines of his face as she tried to discern whether or not he was being facetious. He waited, hoping that she could see the sincerity in his expression, because he really was being serious.

"Maybe – maybe I will sing for you some time, but not now."

"I'll remember you said that."

Their waitress came by to take their mostly empty plates of food and inquire as to whether or not the couple would like to celebrate their anniversary with a slice of freshly made tiramisu. Tony managed to spit out a no-thank-you while watching Ziva with one eye as she hid her laughter behind one hand. As soon the young lady had left she let her chuckle bubble over, dark eyes dancing with mirth, and the sight of her happiness made him want to laugh as well. He truly loved this side of his little ninja assassin; he had always assumed there was a lighter side to her – had even got tiny glimmers of it here and there during their time together – but it was another thing entirely to see it.

He decided on the spot that he needed to see more of it.

Their easy conversation continued as Tony paid the check, and didn't even falter when they stood and Tony helped her into their coat. This was perhaps the longest talk they had ever had at one time, unhindered by teammates or cases or work of any kind. Tony reveled in his partner's company, in her quick-witted retorts (even if her phrasing wasn't always correct) and astute observations; not for the first time that evening Tony was reminded of how lucky he was to be on a date with a woman like Ziva David.

As they made their way back to Tony's Mustang, he felt the first stirrings of trepidation about the second half of their date; he had planned it carefully, and it had seemed … right, at the time, but he couldn't help fearing that it might not be received as well as he hoped.

Like most things in life, there was only way to find out.

* * *

><p>The drive to the park he had chosen was a relatively short one (because he had planned it that way), and they had just parked when the lights in the parking lot snapped to life. Tony grinned triumphantly to himself as he rounded the car to open Ziva's door for her; the darker it was out there, the better his plan would work.<p>

"It is a little late to be in the park, Tony." Ziva took the hand he had offered and let him pull her from her seat. He grinned enigmatically at her, choosing not to respond to what he recognized as her attempt to draw information from him. Instead, he closed her door and moved to his trunk, popping it open and proceeding to rummage around in it for a few seconds. He knew where he had placed everything at the beginning of the evening, and everything – with the exception of the flashlight, which had rolled a few inches away – was in the same place he had put it. He double -checked that he had everything and then let down the trunk with a soft _thunk_ just as Ziva was stepping toward him.

"You are going to get us in trouble," She accused softly, but her words held no sting.

"Oh yea of little faith," He chided, shaking his head. "You're gonna like this." At least, he hoped she would.

Reaching out to wrap her petite hand in his was not particularly necessary, but he did it anyway. He had feared some sort of reprisal on her part, but heaved a silent sigh of relief when none was forthcoming. Tony would admit that he considered himself fairly experienced when it came to women and dating, and yet in many ways he had felt like this was the very first date he'd ever been on.

Perhaps it was just that this was the only date he'd ever been on that had so much resting on it.

Wordlessly, Ziva chose that moment to interlace their fingers, and although he knew she couldn't see his expression in the dark he smiled and squeezed her hand.

Tony led them down one of the paved pathways leading away from the cars, and although he'd never been here before he had memorized the map days before. He swept the flashlight back and forth ahead of them so they could watch their step; Ziva was quiet next to him, but he had never felt the need to fill the silence with her. Theirs was not the silence of two people who had nothing to say, but the silence of two people who didn't need words to fall back on.

The pathway sloped gracefully downward and curved to the left; the trees that had towered above them only moments before gave way, and they were greeted with the sight of a three-quarter full moon reflecting off the tranquil surface of a lake. He felt rather than heard Ziva's intake of breath and would have been pleased with himself if he hadn't been so busy taking in the sight as well. There was something peaceful about the moonlight on water; his partner must have had similar thoughts, because she stepped both forward and closer to him. They stayed that way for some moments, and Tony only managed to look away from what was in front of him to take in the sight of what –who – was standing next to him.

He had decided long ago that Ziva looked amazing in any situation, but now he found himself wondering if she hadn't been made for moonlight. He wanted to kiss her right there, with the pale moonlight above them and the soft sounds of water beside them, but he made himself wait. As wonderful as the view was, it was not why he had brought her here.

"C'mon, " He said softly, and pulled her down to the water's edge.

Without explaining himself he handed the flashlight over to her and produced the other supplies that he had prearranged out of the small bag that he had tucked them in. He could see Ziva's expression rather clearly now, and even most of their surroundings, but he chose to simply smile at her and set the bag down.

In his hand, he held four regular sized zip-loc bags. He chose one at random and then handed her the others, which she took with a raised eyebrow and question marks in her eyes.

"What are you doing?" Her voice was soft and melodious, as if she were afraid that someone might actually hear her.

"Watch and learn." He couldn't resist waggling his eyebrows at her, which earned him a one sided smile.

He opened the bag and produced two unused, unbroken glow sticks. He checked to make sure the other occupant of the bag – a perfectly flat, hand picked rock – was still safely inside. He bent to grab the scissors he'd packed out of the bag; when he righted himself, he snipped the ends off of both of the sticks and then proceeded to pour them into the bag. The plastic zipper made a quiet popping sound as he slid his fingers along its length to lock it into place; when he was certain that it was sealed, he shook the whole bag.

The transformation didn't take long. The liquid thoroughly soaked the rock, and within seconds it began to glow a bright green. He shook it for a few more seconds until he was satisfied that the color had taken and then handed her the bag, motioning for her to hand him a different one.

She stayed quiet as he repeated the action three more times, until they had four bags with brightly glowing rocks: green, purple, red and yellow.

He stuffed the remnants of the project back into the bag and then motioned for Ziva to hand the bags back to him; only now that the preparations were complete did he realize that he had overlooked one major thing: gloves.

_Well son of a bitch …_

"Tony?"

"Hmm?"

"You are … grimacing."

"I forgot to bring gloves," He admitted somewhat sheepishly.

He saw her grin even as she reached for one of the bags: she chose the yellow one first.

"What do we do with them?" She queried

"Skip them."

"Skip them?" Ziva repeated.

"Yeah, ya know – across the lake. You skip them across the surface of the water, and they glow, so you can watch them." He could tell by the look she was giving him that skipping rocks had not been a part of her childhood, so he smiled encouragingly and said, "Here, I'll show you."

Instead of taking the brightly lit rock from her he put a hand on one of her hips and spun her to face the water. He tried to keep his mind off the position of his hand and succeeded by stepping into her, until her back was pressed along the length of his torso. The smallest sliver of memory came back to him, and for the span of a breath he could see himself with one wrapped around her upper chest as Ducky prodded at her ribs. He pushed the memory away and put his arms on either side of her, reaching to open the zip-loc bag she still held.

"Okay, take the rock in your right hand – or left if that's the one you prefer to throw with … move this foot back a little … just drop the bag on the ground and put your foot on it so it doesn't go anywhere …" His lips unwittingly brushed the cool skin of her because they were so close, and his thoughts almost ran away with him before he could clamp down on them. He was close enough to smell her shampoo – something flowery, like jasmine or lavender – and the feel her hair as it tickled his cheek.

Once he was satisfied that she had a good stance, he gave her a brief rundown of how to throw it. She didn't ask him to repeat himself so he assumed she understood and was about to step away when another idea struck him.

"Before you throw it," He told her softly, "You have to make a confession."

"What kind of confession?"

"Any kind, so long as it's true. I'll even plug my ears if you don't want me to hear."

"Why?" Her head tipped to the side in that quizzical way that he found so endearing, and this time he couldn't resist pressing a kiss to the underside of the jaw she had just bared to him. His action didn't seem to come as a surprise to her.

"Sometimes it helps to say things aloud; to confess things you normally wouldn't. It's quiet out here, and private, so you don't have to worry about people hearing you."

She seemed to think it over for a minute, and then finally nodded her head once and murmured a quiet sound of consent.

"Would you like me to plug my hears so I don't hear?" He offered.

"I do not mind if you hear."

Her words warmed him even as his body mourned the loss of her body heat as he stepped away. He waited quietly as she tested the weight of the glowing rock in her hand, wondering if she were trying to decide what to say.

When her voice finally floated over the night air to him, it sounded almost lyrical in its cadence. "I am glad that things did not work out with Ray."

He barely had time to register her words before she pulled her arm back and then swung it forward, slinging the rock out across the water. The bright yellow spot bounced four times, a tiny sun blazing through the blackness as it careened away from them and finally disappeared below the water. Tony chose not to comment on her confession, although it had sent him spinning inside, and instead handed her the green rock, sans plastic bag. She took up root in her spot again, and this time her confession came quickly. "I am thankful to have a second chance, although I am not certain I deserve it." The green one veered to the left and Tony counted three times that it skipped before disappearing from view.

He handed her the purple one. "This is the best date I have ever been on."

That one made the lump that had formed in his throat catch and swell, so that by the time he remembered to look for the rock it had already disappeared and he had no idea how many times it had bounced. He made himself reach for the last rock – the red one – and when he straightened up again he found himself looking straight into a pair of fathomless eyes. She was watching him intently, but he didn't know if she was waiting for him to speak or trying to find something in his expression.

"I think you should do the last one," She told him quietly, stepping toward him. "It is only fair, yes?"

He couldn't disagree and didn't even think of denying her request, but the thought made his heart jump a little. What would his confession be? Right now he felt as though he had a surplus of things to own up to, and yet he somehow knew that now was not the time. What could he say that was true, and meaningful, without jumping the gun?

The answer came to him rather easily.

He posted up in the same spot she had just left, trying his damndest to resist the urge to look at her again. He flipped the rock once in the air in front of him.

"I'm sorry that it took me six years to do this." He lobbed the rock out into the dark blanket of night, forgetting to count the bounces as he lost himself in simply watching its progress. When he finally looked away it was only to discover that Ziva had come to stand next to him; he turned to face her, but whatever thoughts he'd had past that fell away almost immediately. Their hands were glowing faintly from the fluid of the glow sticks – his a pale red, hers a splotchy mixture of purple, green and yellow – and the colors made the whisper of her confessions resound in his ears.

The tension that had been pulling between them all night suddenly came to a breaking point then and they moved for each other with a blurring of shadows and pale neon light. Their lips met softly but urgently, and both of Tony's hands came to rest on either side of her jaw, holding her to him. She wasn't trying to move away – one of her tiny hands had fisted in the front of his shirt, the other pressed against his hip – but he could barely resist the urge to crush her to him in a fit of passion. He tipped her head up ever so gently and slightly to the side to get a better angle, to slide his tongue along the length of hers and felt a tingle race up his spine when she sighed softly into his mouth.

Kissing Ziva was quickly becoming Tony's favorite thing in the world to do.

They stayed that way, clutching at one another as the water lapped softly behind them, for what felt like ages.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Note: Aloha! Anyone still there? I know it's been a while and I don't really have an excuse, except that my muse apparently went on vacation again. As such, I apologize that this chapter is shorter than the others - I kinda had a hard time getting back into the swing of things, but I think I've fixed that. Anyway, sorry for the delay, but I hope you enjoy! Happy reading. **_

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><p>Ziva stared at herself in the mirror, mildly surprised to note that she looked mostly the same. When Abby had asked – or decided, if truth were told – that she was coming over to do her makeup, Ziva had expected to find herself altered on a much grander scale. Instead, she did not look much different than she would if she had gotten herself ready. She was wearing more makeup than usual, but not more than she would have put on herself; her eyeliner was a little darker, maybe, but Ziva didn't mind the look. Abby's artistry was evident: Ziva privately thought that her Goth friend had accentuated her exotic features almost perfectly.<p>

All in all, Ziva was impressed. Next to her, a beaming Abby was double -checking her outfit in the mirror, running a hand over the purple and black plaid skirt she had picked out for the evening. Her eyes drifted from her skirt to Ziva in the mirror, and the way she grinned made Ziva glance down at herself out of reflex. She was wearing a pair of her own khaki cargo pants (although, admittedly, they were one of the pairs that fit her rather well) and a dark maroon t-shirt that Abby had brought her that loudly proclaimed "Android Lust". Ziva had been expecting a t-shirt like Abby's, but found instead that her friend had picked her out one with a sexy v-neck and the barest hint of sleeves.

"Do you really like it?" Abby asked again.

"I really do, Abby," Ziva answered honestly, smiling.

"You were expecting a short skirt and platform boots, weren't you?"

"The thought crossed my mind, yes."

Abby laughed and reached behind her neck to fasten the dog collar she had chosen for the night, a black leather one with skulls for studs.

"That is so not your style. No offense."

"None taken."

The doorbell buzzed just then, and Ziva's stomach jumped against her wishes. That would be Tim and Tony – she knew because they were teetering right on the edge of being late (and also because no one else would be at her apartment on a Friday night).

"I'll get it," Ziva said, excusing herself.

She crossed the apartment to her door, and when she opened it she couldn't fight the mischievous smile that worked its way across her face. Tim and Tony looked more laid back than she was used to seeing, and the effect that it had on Tim was undeniably noticeable. He looked younger in his dark jeans and band t-shirt, almost unrelated to the serious NCIS agent she knew and loved. Somehow, the jump in age made her suddenly fonder of him, as if he were a younger brother she needed to protect.

"Hello, Tim. Tony." She gave them both a wide smile and stepped aside to let them in

"You look great, Ziva," Tim said as he walked by.

"Do you like it?"

"Absolutely."

"Be sure to tell Abby. She is in the bathroom."

Ziva watched him walk toward the bathroom and was about to turn around when Tony's voice said, very close to her ear, "You're stunning."

She turned and found herself nearly enveloped in his chest, the scent of his cologne reaching out to wrap her in his scent. She had never considered herself a fan of cologne, but there was something about Tony's that she rather enjoyed. He always wore it, she knew, but the smell was never overpowering – she rather thought that he had figured out how to spray it just so, in a way that invited others to get close enough to smell it, almost as if he was trying to draw them in – to draw her in. And damn him if it didn't work.

"You look rather passable yourself," she teased.

"Passable?" he scoffed. "I look like a young Burt Reynolds. Only without the mustache."

She laughed and made herself move away before Abby or Tim could appear. "You look nothing like Burt Reynolds."

He looked much better than Burt Reynolds. The distressed blue jeans and simple black t-shirt he'd chosen for the evening made her think of a night that was some time ago now, when he'd stood next to her in the kitchen, his hair ever so slightly out of place, and listened to her voice her fear over the state of her soul. He looked and smelled wonderful, and she wanted to cross the gap right then and kiss him like she had the night before.

A laughing Abby and grinning Tim emerged just then, effectively erasing all thought of jumping the man before her.

"You look great, Tony!" Abby said by way of greeting. "Very suave."

"Thanks, Abs – suave was what I was aiming for. Hungry?"

"Starving. Lead the way!"

On a whim Tony offered his crooked arm to Ziva, who hesitated only a moment before taking it. Out of the corner of her eye Ziva saw Tim follow suit, and she tried to hide a grin. They stopped long enough for her to lock the door behind them, and then Abby filled their trip down to the parking lot with a soliloquy on the greatness that was Android Lust, and how they would all thank her for changing their lives.

Tony, who had been determined to get at least a little alone time with Ziva during the evening, had successfully managed to suggest to Tim earlier in the day that it would be more economical if the two of them carpooled to Ziva's apartment, where Abby's car would be waiting. Once there, Abby and Tim could drive in one car – his rationale being that at the end of the night, when they were all exhausted, they would not have to return to Ziva's apartment to retrieve said car. Tony would drive Ziva, of course, but he hadn't even gotten far enough to need to justify himself; as soon as Tim realized this plan would give him time alone with Abby, all else was overlooked.

So it was that Abby made sure Tim knew which restaurant they were going to and then slid into her car, content to let Tim drive. Tony smiled in response to Ziva's arched eyebrow as he held the door open for her, then hurried around to the other side of the car.

"Two cars? Did you orchestrate that?"

"Maybe. It was pretty easy, once Tim realized that it would give him time alone with Abby."

"And you time alone with me?"

"Are you complaining?"

She paused a second, just to make him squirm. Then, quietly, she said, "No."

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><p>Ziva had never been on a double date before, but she was left with the unshakeable feeling that this was what one would feel like. Across the dinner table, Abby and Tim were sitting close enough to one another that she hoped they would not notice – or realize – just how close she and Tony were sitting to one another.<p>

Conversation came easily to the four of them, and more than once Ziva was reminded of how lucky she was to be here with these people, and how thoroughly she enjoyed their company. The ease of Tim's laughter, Abby's bright grin … they were the same people, she knew, and yet they all felt somehow different from their NCIS counterparts. There were no dead bodies here to disrupt a conversation, no grim murders underlying their interaction; this was purely them, friends out to enjoy an evening together.

Partway through after dinner drinks, Tony's hand found its way over to rest on her leg, just above her knee. His hand was warm, even through her pants, and when she stole a glance his way he winked conspiratorially at her.

Abby, all glowing excitement, was the one to decide that they should make their way to the warehouse-turned-concert-venue; Tony managed to snatch the check before anyone else and disappeared quickly, Abby shouting a thank you to his retreating form.

Ziva planned another thank you entirely.

"So, Abs, is there anything we need to know before we get there?" Tim asked, half curious and half concerned, as they made their way out.

"You guys are gonna love it, I promise!" Abby gushed. "And I made sure to bring extra ear plugs for everyone too."

"Ear plugs?" Ziva questioned. "Why do we need ear plugs?"

"When's the last time you went to a concert, Ziva?" Tony asked, falling into step beside them.

"This will be my first."

Abby looked positively horrified at the confession, but Tony just chuckled and clamped down on the urge to throw an arm around her.

"Well they get pretty loud, even when the lead act isn't called 'Android Lust.'"

"The only thing I love more than my music is my hearing. Okay, well, maybe not the only thing …" Abby said, trailing off.

Tony and Ziva reached their car first; Tony, unable to resist, held the door open for Ziva once more. He had always been in the habit of opening doors for women, if truth be told, especially on dates; with Ziva, however, he found that he truly enjoyed the simple act. She always smiled her little smile at him, the one that told him that while the chivalry was not needed, it was appreciated. He enjoyed doing this one little thing – so unexpected and easily overlooked – for such a fiercely independent woman.

He hurried around the car and let himself into the driver's seat, automatically sliding the keys into the ignition and starting it while simultaneously reaching for his seatbelt. When he turned to say something to his partner, however, he was surprised to find her leaning deliciously close to him. He barely had enough time to bring his gaze up from her lips before finding said lips wonderfully upon his own.

Of all of the women Tony had kissed in his life – and there had been more than his fair share – kissing Ziva was unlike kissing anyone else. He did not know if it had to do with who she was, or who they were to each other, but he didn't particularly care – all he cared about was that he continue to be allowed to do it.

When she finally pulled away (entirely too soon for his liking), her dark eyes were dancing in the yellow glow of the parking garage lights.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"Thank you, for dinner."

He smiled. "Remind to pay more often."


End file.
